Well, this sucks
by DarkTideProductions
Summary: Gareth Dorne has been attacked in the Koccari Wilds, just outside the fortress of Ostagar. Meanwhile, the chasind warrior Bale Stone Eye's personal attack on the dark spawn, goes astray. Desperate situations force them to rely on one another for survival.
1. Gareth Dorne: Prologue

**Gareth Dorne - Prologue**

"Just a bit further and you'll make it," Gareth repeated in his head over and over as he crawled across the dirt path. Again, he placed one arm forward and heaved his body along. His armor suffocated him. His body grew numb. His blood stained the ground. Although he lay dying, the stagnant trees of the Koccari wilds answered only with mute apathy. In all honesty, his plight seemed quite hopeless; however, he was determined to inch forward before the darkness finally consumed him. The closer he got to camp, the better his chances of being found.

The more his vision dimmed, the more hope diminished. Still, the length of crimson trailing grew behind him with every stretch forward."It's not just you," he tried to remind himself, "There are others that need to know. They need to be warned of the darkspawn." The reminder of the situation failed to make his pains go away, or make his pace improve.

Finally, he succumbed to exhaustion. His limbs, battered from his narrow escape and aching from repeated abuse, failed him. Submitted to his fate, he let his head rest on the damp earth. Gareth Dorne inhaled his apparent last breath. Then, footsteps. Voices. With what was his last breath, he mustered the energy to shout; though, it came out as a strangled croak, "Help...Over here!"

Whoever these travelers were, they heeded his call and approached him. They spoke to each other, but either they were too quiet or his perception had decayed to a borderline deafness. As the moments passed, two of the individuals seemed to bicker with each other. In a desperate attempt to move things along, he tried to clarify for minimal aid, "I...don't need much help, just some bandages to get me going." Even as Gareth choked out his request, he felt his lungs deflate. Whatever these strangers did, they had gone the extra mile. He began to feel the bleeding stop; and a soothing feeling washed over him, turning burning pains into mild aches. Though his vision remained blurred, he was able to push himself up, straining as it was. Forced into a limp, he gave his thanks as quickly as possible and continued along, determined not to be sidetracked.


	2. Bale Stone Eyes: Prologue

The metal whistled through the air and that would've been it, back to the mud as simple as that, but it seemed the Wilds had a different fate in mind for him. He shifted right and the blow cut naught but air as he brought his own weapon around and hammered it down on his monstrous foe. For all the heavy blade's worth, it did little against the plate armor and Bale found himself stepping to avoid a strike from his opponent's weapon.

The darkspawn didn't hesitate and the attack was pushed forward. The next swing Stone Eyes managed to catch, but for all his strength, his adversary had a head and what seemed like five stone on him. He dug his heels in the muddy grass, the squelch of his boots in the filth mixing queerly with the grinding of metal and the ragged breath of either fighter. The burning in his forearms was hard to ignore and couldn't be managed long, so the lock was broke and he rolled to the side, the beast's greatsword sparked against his and slid right off, planting straight into the muck. Up on his feet before the monstrosity could free his weapon, he delivered a powerful backhanded swing, digging straight through its armor and sinking halfway in at the shoulder. A howl of pain rose from the creature's maw as Bale released his grip on the bastard sword and tore a knife from his belt, promptly shoving it up under the darkspawn's throat and silencing the shouts.

"Rrraughhh!" The roar of bloodlust mixed with fury permeated through the air, and his brothers took that as their sign to join the fray. Three men armored lightly with patchwork leather and no more than rust bitten blades stormed into the small stretch of woods, meeting their enemies with a fury that seemed to come straight from the legends that gave the infamous Chasind warriors their long wrought reputation. The darkspawn answered with twice as many shouts and the bloodletting to follow turned the mud scarlet and ebony.

He watched as Cal took an axe in the arm only to take off a head in return. He saw Rud as the giant forewent his steel for the satisfaction of lifting his foe, smaller than a dwarf, off the ground and ending its miserable existence with a sharp twist of the neck. Stone Eyes smiled as another rushed towards him, and snatched his blade from the ground before charging to meet the challenge.

A twang stood out amongst the clatter of iron and was accompanied swiftly by an arrow planting itself between the neck and shoulder of the approaching darkspawn. A hiss of pain and a half second's delay was all the time Bale needed to put a blade into the creatures skull, wrench it out, and keep his stride before his victim hit the ground.

Stone Eyes felt a low rumble in his chest and in the air, taking a moment to scan the tree line. More of the wretches poured from the brushes in pairs but it mattered little, for falling back had ceased being an option after the first wretch was slain. His eyes followed a group of fodder as Timmet's arrows sprouted from their joints like weeds on a hot summer day.

Cal cleaved another head off and turned, his rage quelled for a moment as the odds began to set in, while Rud was too far gone in his own madness to take notice, batting one enemy aside while gutting the another.

Bale raised his dagger and bastard sword up with left and right hands respectively, spinning them like a man half sane, and plunging into the confusion. It didn't matter where he swung because every blow of his hit and he made damn sure every one of them hurt. Blood and sweat was traded amongst three warriors and the horde, but the arrows had since stopped. Stone Eyes shoved a creature off his knife, pivoting around to cleave an arm off another. His body was numb with adrenaline, so the cuts he did receive barely registered as enemy after enemy fell before them, but the futility of their plight was becoming more apparent with each kill and every cut.

His eyes fell on Rud as the mountainous man took a blade in the ribs and watched as red rivers ran from it. He turned to see Cal hack away fruitlessly as the wretches overwhelmed him, eventually falling beneath the boots of his killers. There were too many... '_We are too few...'_

Bale let a second cry mix in with the guttural snarls and screeches of the darkspawn.

He jammed his dagger into the head of one, and lost it as the felled wretch dragged it from from his hands. Taking his remaining armament into both hands, the Chasind aimed hard and low, taking the legs out from under the beast to his front. Quickly the line he and his allies had formed died along with Rud and Cal, and the enemy made their way around to his back and sides.

No, he could not be trapped.

He shoved booted foot into the next wretch in line, knocking him into all those behind.

_'I will not be trapped.'_

He stomped over those fallen before him, not minding if they were dead or alive, his sights set on a small opening in the mob just to his front. The weapons of those circling him darted out, nicking him here and there.

_'I will not die here.'_

He broke from the chaos, but the wretches pursued, all of them just out of sword's reach as he pushed for the tall trees mere yards ahead of him. His heart sounded like booming war drums at a distance to his own ears, but that terrible music was just enough to drive him onward, quicker than the rabble could close in on him, but it still wasn't quick enough. There was an instant's hesitation before he made the decision but, remorsefully, he let his blade slip from his fingers and fall to the ground and his pace increased all the more.

"I will not die here," Bale muttered determinedly between ragged breaths. He past the tall trees and that small light of hope began to grow in his mind as he saw the woods start to thin out. He turned to see that most of the darkspawn had fallen back in the wake of a monster so large it would put Rud to shame. He turned his head back around and the same old mantra replayed in his head. "I will not die-" but the belief in those words extinguished instantly as the sight of the gorge filed into his vision. He held himself back, digging boots in the dirt and teetered on the edge, a mere hairs breath from death, that death being in the form of torrential amounts of rushing water and a few dozen jagged rocks smiling like a set of crooked teeth that couldn't wait to get a taste of him. Stone Eyes was going to die here. He turned to see the darkspawn come just into reach of him and grab out with a long, demonic arm.

_'But so are you.' _

Bale grabbed a clawed hand with both of his and let the full weight of his body fall back over nothing, sending both the darkspawn and the Chasind into the river.


	3. It's a Good Day to Die

**It's a Good Day to Die**

The truth of it? Things had gone to shit quicker than the old man at camp had said and the wretches were moving to the north, arching a wide path around the edge of the forest and planned to come out in front of that damnable fortress. He choked, gagged, and sputtered water as he pulled at the muddy riverside, muscles straining as he heaved himself up onto bank. Raspy breaths rose up in his chest, and the wind bit at him, his body shaking hard in response. And now two of his best men were back in the mud and the only archer they had worth any salt in a battle. He turned back to the smiling river, jagged teeth of stone ever grinning. _'Piss on it...'_ He thought while forcing his body to stand._ 'That was a fool's fight and we strolled into it merrily. How stupid were we not to foresee that others would come.' _Bale's gaze rose from the river, trailing up the cliff face and landing at the spot he'd fallen from. He might not be much, but Stone Eyes figured there must be some worth in him to some deity up amongst the stone gray clouds. The only thing that had kept him alive was the wretch he managed to drag down with him, the beast bearing most of the impact when they finally hit.

Bale prodded at his ribs with a wary finger only to seethe in response. Lifting up his wet rag of a shirt, the dark purple stains running along his torso were clear as day and tender to the touch. He didn't think any ribs broke, but he wouldn't know until numbing cold and his remaining adrenaline faded. The latter was slowly starting drift away, but the cold was only getting worse. A light breeze ran in between the trees and brush, blowing past the chasind as if he were just another beast of the Wilds, and to some people, that description wasn't too far from the mark. He shook again, harder this time, as he tramped through the slush of wet earth and fallen leaves with a steady jog, trying desperately to bring some warmth to his shivering body. The sun might have helped, but light (and subsequently, warmth) scarcely ever made its way through the thick, overlapping branches of the forest canopy.

No, this wasn't the best of spots he'd found here, but it's what he had to work with: wet, cold, alone, injured, and unarmed. But he supposed if he should thank anyone for that, then the wretches would be a fine old place to start. They'd been settling the nearby territory for weeks now, scattering the clans throughout the massive area the Wilds covered and forcing individual groups into self-reliance. There'd be no help from other chiefs like Tull or Grenn, who had cleared out and taken their people on the path north to safer lands, an idea that seemed to Bale as sensible, but it was rare that sensible ideas cut their way through the thick walls surrounding the old man's head. Ironfist was just that sort of man. _"Too consumed with his own pride, that one,"_ his father would say, _"they follow him, it'll be the death of all we know." _And at this point, those words had gone from mere talk to the truth as the old man sent them off in groupings of threes and fours to be slaughtered or maimed, leaving all those back in the small settlement with little hope of survival should the horde come across.

He shook those thoughts from his mind and kept his lumbering, yet consistent, pace along the river bank. Bale's path took him south with the current, the image of the narrow bend the water made hanging in his mind. He had to hope he could cross there; he had to hope the wretches had moved on, he had to hope they left something for him to use. That was an awful lot of hoping, but seldom their came a time when he didn't have some thought for which to cling to.

Stone Eyes was lucky to find that the remainder of his path was relatively untouched by darkspawn or anything else. The small drop from the ground to the water made it a treacherous crossing for any animal looking to make it to the other side and most people wouldn't risk it here. The tangle of weeds and plants he pushed through in conjunction with the knee high grass, gave him comfort in the fact he'd be the only beast in this forest fool enough to follow the river so close, but that was what he was counting on. And not long into his jaunt, he came across the spot he was looking for. The river seemed only a few yards in width here and the overhanging ledge he stood on was elevated just high enough so that one might be able to make a jump to the other side. Not the most practical of plans, but it was the quickest way he knew, so with those thoughts on the mind, Bale reared back and plunged off the side, passing through air for only a moment before his boots sank into the muck on the other side. The warrior managed a grin despite the bleak circumstances surrounding his situation and took one glance backwards before working his legs into another slow, steady jog.

It wouldn't be too long after that before for Bale stumbled upon the place he'd been looking for. He saw the blackened fire pit where the flames had long since diminished with half-burned sticks and ashes scattered about it; the big log they all had shared a seat on was just to the right of it. He felt a churning in his stomach force the remainders of his breakfast up his throat, but he managed to hold down the bits of deer meat and bile by choosing to breathe through his mouth as opposed to the nose. The stench of corpses was anything but pleasant and it was an odor no one ever got used to despite the foolish bragging of some. Plain and simple, it reeked like the incense of hell and the source was a lean body slumped up against a tree at the center of their small camp, still and unmoving, most like a result of the dagger that had been shoved mercilessly into his back, nearly to the hilt and cross guard. _'Timmet...' _

The boy had been killed in the middle of firing, his last moments cemented with death. A determined look with his hands still clenched around both bow and arrow, his spot of kneeling just right to oversee the bloodshed from a safe vantage point. For what good it did him. Moving forward with weary steps, Bale stood over the lifeless form and looked upon the scene as Timmet might have. There was a small decline that sloped down into the pile of bodies that consisted of Cal, Rud, and about two dozen wretches, but to his relief, not a single one of them was up and about. It seemed as if the main group had moved on, but he wouldn't waste time waiting around to see if they had forgotten something. Working quickly, he reached and clenched his hands around the knife buried in Timmet's neck tearing it free with a single jerk. The body slipped down slowly, till the youthful archer was lying flat on his back, slowly sinking into the mush below. Stone Eyes took a moment to bow his head in respect before jamming the weapon into the his belt. One could never underestimate the usefulness of a good knife, and this one was as good as any, even if it had been a wretch's.

His coat was there too, wedged under the log, battered and scarred from years of weather and war, torn and stitched back together, missing half a sleeve, and his pack was lying shapeless in the brush nearby, its contents strewn out down the slope. He crouched, breathless, throwing it all back inside. A length of rope, his old clay pipe, some strips of dried meat, needle and twine, a dented flask with some liquor still sloshing inside. All good. All useful. The only thing left would be a good blade, that, above anything, would be his closest comrade in the hours to come Bale imagined. He thought of inching his way down to the battlefield in hopes of finding his own hand-and-a-half sword, but he didn't plan on risking it. _'No,' _he thought inwardly. Were it his luck there'd be some beast sitting there, hoping he'd come back as to gut him the second he walked by. No, there was little choice other than to make his way back toward the village and await another of Ironfist's delusional commands. The others would be warned whether the old fool would hear it or not. He needed to move his people north, and if were to do it he would have to do so soon.

Bale looked to the ground and as expected, Timmet had made sure his blade was close on hand. Reaching down, Stone Eyes snatched it up and strapped it to his back along with his bag. North was his heading, so north is where he went.

------

Gareth walked in total silence, the winds themselves seemed to have had the life choked out of them. Dead. Something he just narrowly avoided experiencing himself. As he followed the pathway he heaved a sigh of relief. He didn't planning on feeling the Maker's embrace anytime soon. Still, he was not able to shrug off his past experiences. Just hours before, he was part of an elite scouting team. He had been granted the honor of following House Cousland's heir, Fergus, into the wilds. "_Scouting party...sodding brilliant,_" he thought. _"Their scouting party found us."_ He shuddered, remembering the attack in perfect clarity. Even as he walked, his memories came to life in his mind.

- - -

Fergus walked through the mud, the wind howling at their backs. The tree branches swayed and jerked, nature itself seemed to warn them to turn back. Some soldiers grew nervous, others looking back and forth warily. "Forward!" Fergus shouted with confidence, "I have a wife, child, and a little brother to come home to. The sooner we find the horde, the sooner we win! And the sooner we win, the sooner we go home!" His soldiers cheered in response, the party's spirits were lifted, for the moment. Gareth walked close by his royal commander, sword and shield gripped tightly in his hand; he would not let any harm come to that man. These men were supposed to be the best at being discreet and quiet. But ultimately, they were still human. Fears of a larger dark spawn horde made them wary, and the scale of their mission did not help them alleviate their worries.

However, they picked the right man to lead this mission. If anyone was able to relieve fears or sooth concerns, it was Fergus. To Gareth, Cousland's heir had a charisma that rivaled King Cailan himself. Even against one of the world's most dangerous foes, Lord Fergus managed to maintain a non-chalant and laid back appearance. "Captain," Fergus commented jokingly, "If you stay any closer to me you'll be riding on my back." Gareth immediately gave the commander an extra foot of ground.

"I'm sorry my lord, I am simply trying to-"

"I know Gareth, but I was trained just as you were."

"Yes, of course sir...it's just-"

"Besides, if something does happen with you so close, you won't even have the room to strike or block."

"I...right, sir."

"And one more thing Captain,"

"My lord?"

"Relax, will you?"

"Er...yes sir!"

Trying to relax, he relinquished his grip on his weapons; sheathing his sword and placing his shield onto his back. "_We can do this...if anyone is qualified for this, it's us," _Gareth thought to reassure himself. As the troops walked, footman Brinksley told tales he had claimed to hear of the Chasind, and the stories of Flemeth; the witch of the wilds supposedly living in the very woods they tread upon. He spoke of barbarian bandits who swooped out from the trees to kill and loot careless travelers, while kidnapping women who strayed too far from home. Not long after, corporal Shilt tried telling a story about a spirit with a name starting with "Gaz" but Gareth wasn't paying enough attention to hear it. Surveying the trees around him. "Cut the chatter!" he exclaimed, "You're soldiers, act like it!"

All the men straightened up and quieted down, though their snickering and quiet laughter could still be heard amongst the rank and file. Towering above the rest of his comrades, Brinksley's smirk was still there for all to see, and Shilts' loud snorts overpowered everyone else's hushed chatter. Those were the last sounds of cheer he'd heard yet.

Suddenly, the wind stopped completely, and a feeling of despair permeated through the forest. Everyone fell silent, and Fergus whispered to Gareth, "Watch out...something isn't right." That much had seemed obvious to the Captain. He scanned his surroundings for anything suspicious. With the wind muted, the rustling of leaves could finally be heard. Then he looked left, towards the river. The moving water had stopped, the flow now stagnant. A decaying arch that had been decaying as it lost to the test of time. The sounds of rocks crumbling whispered into his ears, as a small piece of debris fell into the lake, ripples pushing out around it. These subtle noises worried him.

"_The Koccari Wilds have never been so calm."_

Finally, as if nature was sounding a great hunt of its own, a choir of wolves howled in unison. Just then, the ground quaked, the earth rumbled underneath them. In his gut, Gareth knew from that moment what was happening, but he hoped to the Maker his feelings were wrong.

They weren't.

The path they walked upon tore open and tortured shrieks wailed through them. Just as fast as the holes opened, malignant horrors leaped out of them and the ground itself collapsed, sealing the crevices almost immediately. Even a child would have recognized these monstrous beings: **Darkspawn**.

Trained as he was, Gareth still struggled to stop his fears from taking over. His saving grace lied in his authority. "SCHILTROM FORMATION!" he bellowed, "Protect Lord Fergus!" Hesitant at first, the rectangular formation broke as the soldiers created a double layered circle. The outer edges were composed of traditional footmen armed with swords and shields, side by side these troops created an effective barrier against both arrows and blades. Meanwhile, the second layer consisted of spearmen placed at the center of each pair of footmen to act as the main offensive posture.

Gareth Dorne stood firm with his brothers in arms. Brinksley stood by with him on his left, his face colored with grim determination. While most of the soldiers held kite shields locked together, this soldier's massive size granted him a significantly larger tower shield that rested on the ground itself. Everyone that Brinksley stood alongside showed a visible confidence with him as their champion. In alarmingly stark contrast, Shilts seemed to still be laughing to himself, completely unfazed by the situation; he held a peculiar armament of his own. Far more thin and lithe compared to most soldiers, Shilts held twin hooked blades in an "X" form. Unable to wield a direct attack with a shield, he was much more effective break the momentum of an enemies attack by catching an enemies attack and using their momentum against them. Any other unit would not dare take Shilts as a front line combatant, but Gareth didn't lead an ordinary unit.

In seconds, the darkspawn were upon them. Genlocks, small little goblin-like creatures ran towards them screeching. Those holding spears couldn't reach them, but it didn't matter. Simple kicks or a slash from a sword easily dispatched these monsters. Raising his tower shield above his head, he crushed three genlocks at once; a splatter of black blood stained the ground around him. Eventually, larger darkspawn approached, these ones were actually the size of Brinksley, Hurlocks. The soldiers faltered.

Still, they held the line.

_I will not fail._

Somehow darkspawn began rushing in from all sides of the forest, and they threw themselves at the humans' formation. In a matter of seconds, the abominations obscured the rest of the forest, and arrows fell down like water would in a flood.

Still, they held the line.

_I cannot lose._

Another large sized wretch threw itself at Gareth, only to be shoved back by his shield and subsequently being impaled by a spear to the throat. Shilts hands flew faster than the eye could see, weaving a web of steel and blood as darkspawn fell to his blade. As the battle raged on, Brinksley suffered from a blow to the shoulder by an especially large Hurlock. It never did find satisfaction however, as the giant soldier wrapped his arm around the neck of the creature, and crushing it even as it used its jagged teeth to cut into his armor. Shilts began to bleed himself, as he was grazed by arrows he could not deflect.

Still, they held the line.

_We must survive._

After what felt like hours of combat, the horde seemed to thin, and the weary fighters had renewed vigor. This feeling would be crushed as soon as it came though, as the darkspawn did not thin, they merely made room for something new. Once more, the ground shook, but the earth did not open. While Brinksley and hurlocks were called massive, the word suddenly seemed to be a misuse when this monster stepped onto the field. With horns as large as the men themselves, and arms that seemed to be twice their size, came charging onto the field.

The line had broken.

_...We're going to die._

In a frenzy, several foot men ran, only to save the darkspawn the trouble of getting to them as they were butchered by a sea of rusty blades. One courageous soldier dared to hold his ground against the ogre managed to find the same treatment Brinksley gave Genlocks , as he became a mat for the beast's foot. People were being killed left and right, Gareth watched in horror as hardened soldiers became small children. One fell to his knees crying for his mother as a pack of hungry genlocks ate him alive. When Gareth heard Shilts cry out, he spun towards the ogre, seeing how his lithe friend became a trophy stretched out onto both of the ogre's horns. Panic won over, and Gareth screamed,

"RETREAT, RETREAT, RETREAT!"

It was already too late of course, as anyone still part of the layered circle was simply there because that was where they died. As the captain tried to cut open a pathway to escape, he had managed to catch the Ogre's eye. Crashing its way through its own compatriots, the behemoth towered over Gareth, who had fallen onto his back from the manufactured earth quake the giant had created. It raised its foot, and smashed into the ground over Gareth. Narrowly avoiding death by rolling away, he tried to calculate how long he could last like this.

A shout like no other rang through the air, that even the darkspawn had stopped. A line was being made amidst the battlefield with the horrors literally being tossed into the air. Brinskley had gone into some sort of berserker fury as he threw his shield behind him and launched himself onto the ogre's back, climbing up it with his sword and bare hands. "GO, EVERYONE GO!" he screamed, "GO! GO!" Tossing his shield as a makeshift projectile just as Brinksley had, Gareth ran into the thickets of the forest and escaped, but not before taking another arrow to the hip.

-----

Reliving it for the second time, the Captain clenched his hip, until he finally realized the gaping wound had been sealed. Snapping back to the present, he stopped by the river he saw before the mission went to the Black City. Taking off his gauntlets, he cupped his hands and drank the water. Once he had his fill, he stopped, and saw his reflection in the water. His pale skin was covered in dirt and blood, while his long black hair had passed through his helmet and covered part of his eyes. He saw a fresh cut on his cheek, and a drop of blood landed in the water. As he watched it, he saw more blood flow downstream to mingle with his. Both red and black...he didn't know which color he hated to see more.

Standing up, he looked at sword and his sword and unsheathed it. He started walking, though he couldn't even remember where he was going.

_Time to get moving_


End file.
